


The Bread Centre of Town

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M, Fluff, Sherlock is smitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:35:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: John gawped as his friend ruffled his hair and adjusted the collar of his coat to stand tall before striding to the bakery with a swagger John could never unsee.The victory of finally discovering Sherlock’s secret bakery was overshadowed by the crippling curiosity about why the detective walked across half of London to go to this particular bakery. And why he cared so much about what he looked like before going in.





	The Bread Centre of Town

John’s stomach rumbled pitifully and he glared at his friend, who was licking the crumbs of a pastry from his fingers.

“The least you could have done after pulling me away from dinner was bring me one of those.”

Sherlock just wiped a crumb from his lip. “Murders don’t wait for the check, Watson.”

The cab came to a stop and they ducked out, the night filled with police lights and chatter.

“You won’t tell me the name of the bakery and you won’t bring me a single scone,” John huffed alongside the taller man as they were let into the scene. “It’s like you don’t want me to-”

“Ah, Giovanni,” Sherlock cut him off. Lestrade rolled his eyes at the name. “What do you have for me?”

John narrowed his eyes at the back of his friend. He’d get to the bottom of this. If only just for a bite of the pastries whose delectable scent made his mouth water.

oOo

Molly slid another tray of freshly baked scones under the glass, surreptitiously eyeing the door.

“You could try to be less obvious,” Mary teased as she arranged the baskets of bread, her blue eyes twinkling knowingly.

Molly flushed and ignored her friend, but stopped watching for the tall, dark, and mysterious man who had been coming in every morning and sometimes right before close. She’d bumbled like a fool the first time she’d looked up into those seafoam eyes and nearly threw the savory scone at him. He’d raised an eyebrow, making his regal face look all the more intimidating, sniffed it and taken an experimental bite. 

Immediately, his arrogant face had melted into a surprised half-smile. 

He’d dropped a tenner in the tip jar before whirling about and exiting dramatically. All he’d missed was the fanfare. The little fairy bell she’d hung above the door didn’t do his exit justice.

Molly had spent the rest of the day alternating between mooning over her mysterious customer and cursing herself for being so awkward. She came across attractive men every day and had no problem serving them with professional friendliness. 

But then he’d come back the next day. And the next. 

He would sometimes get a coffee, black with two sugars, but without fail he would get the scone of the day. Their conversation consisted of hellos and thank yous. Nothing more. But each time, Molly fell a bit deeper, her daydreams entirely stolen by him.

_Stop mooning over a man you don’t know._ Molly chastised herself and pushed him from her thoughts as Mary flipped over the sign to  **Open** and their day began.

oOo

He was a doctor, for crying out loud. Not a ninja. 

But as John tailed Sherlock, wearing a new black jumper with a hood pulled over a cap, he certainly felt like one. Perhaps a bit ridiculous at times. He’d gotten a few curious stares when he’d jumped behind a car when his mark suddenly looked behind him.

Maybe the black would have better if it were night. Not 6.32 in the bloody morning.

Too late to turn back now. He’d come this far and he’d see it through.

The minutes ticked by as they wandered through the streets of London, the city waking up around them. 

He almost lost Sherlock when a stream of people poured out of a bus. But the git was a good head taller than most of them and John hurried to keep him in sight. 

The detective continued down a side street. John ducked into an archway as Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder then strode across the street.

John leaned around the corner to watch. It was a quaint, quiet road. Well-kept but nearly empty. Several shoppes boasted  _For Rent_  signs and the apart from a couple legal offices, the only other business was a little bakery right in the middle. 

**The Bread Centre of Town**

He watched as Sherlock stopped in front of window of the empty shoppe next door, leaning over to peer at his reflection.

John gawped as his friend ruffled his hair and adjusted the collar of his coat to stand tall before striding to the bakery with a swagger John could never unsee. 

The victory of finally discovering Sherlock’s secret bakery was overshadowed by the crippling curiosity about why the detective walked across half of London to go to this particular bakery. And why he cared so much about what he looked like before going in.

Five minutes later, the door opened and Sherlock stepped out. He was holding a coffee cup and a small bag and scowling. John watched in confusion as his friend seemed to have a small argument with himself before storming away, his coat billowing out behind him.

John pressed himself against the brick wall of his hiding place until Sherlock had passed and disappeared into the crowd on the main street.

Coast clear, John hurried across the road and entered the little bakery.

A light jingle announced his entrance and he was immediately warmed by the smell of fresh bread and pastries, the hint of coffee drawing him like a moth to a flame.

“Good morning!” A bright voice greeted him. He turned his eyes from the baskets of bread that made his mouth water and immediately forgot his rumbling stomach. Behind the counter was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her short, wavy blonde hair hugged her heart-shaped face and her green eyes twinkled mischievously as she caught him gaping.

“Hi,” he managed, inwardly cringing at how lame that sounded. 

“What would you like?”

“Erm…bread.” 

She laughed and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Good god, he was Three Continents Watson, not some bumbling school boy trying to ask a pretty girl to the cinema. 

“What kind of bread?” 

He swallowed hard as she came around the counter to stand by the wall of bread baskets. 

“Um, good bread?” God, she must think him an idiot. But with curves like that, what was she expecting? He was only a man.

“Our focaccia is famous,” she took pity on him and brought a sample over from the tray. “Would you like to try a piece?” Before he could answer, she’d already held it up to his lips. 

Up close he could see the flecks of silver in her green eyes and smell the lingering scent of cinnamon and flour. His lips brushed her fingers as he took the bread and he was delighted to see her cheeks and nose turn red. So it wasn’t just him then.

The taste of the focaccia was unequaled and the best bread he had eaten in years. He groaned and 

“Mary, did you start the brusch-oh, excuse me.” 

With great effort, John tore his gaze from the blonde woman,  _Mary_. In the doorway, a wide-eyed brunette stared at them in surprise, looking between the two of them.

“Yes, it’s already in the oven, love,” Mary replied, not moving an inch from John’s side. 

“Right, okay, thank you.” The brunette clearly realised she had interrupted something and looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

She turned around to go back into the kitchen area when the bell jangled noisily and a rush of cool air swirled around them as Sherlock stormed back inside, cheeks flushed and a determined look on his face.

“Molly, I-John?” The detective did a double take when he saw his flatmate.

“Sherlock?”

“ _Sherlock_?”

“Mary!”

They all turned to look at the blonde in surprise. She shrugged one shoulder and smirked. “I didn’t want to be left out.”

John laughed and she smiled smugly. 

“John. What are you doing here?” The detective seethed, his eyes darting between the doctor and the baker with an almost panicked fear.

“You wouldn’t share, Sherlock,” John accused. “So I took matters into my own hands.”

Mary looked between the men. “You know tall, dark, and cowardly here?”

“He’s my flatmate and a bloody selfish git,” John tossed out. Sherlock glared at the two of them.

Molly bit her lip and interrupted before things got even more heated. “Sherlock?”

Immediately, his attention flew to the young woman and his scowl was replaced by a look not very different than a lovesick pup. John could have laughed. All this time, he thought Sherlock had been secretive because of the pastries, keeping them all to himself. 

But it was really the pastry-maker that had stolen the detective’s heart. 

“Was there something you needed?” 

Only a blind man could miss the way Molly felt about Sherlock. Her heart was in her eyes, hopeful and longing. 

Sherlock glanced at Mary and John who were watching the unfolding unabashedly. His ears turned red and he stepped closer to the counter. 

He leaned down and Mary and John leaned closer to hear.

“Yes. I’d like-” he shifted uncomfortably, “I’d like…a cheese toastie.”

“Oh, come on,” Mary breathed harshly as Molly deflated. Sherlock scowled at himself and straightened. Molly turned, hiding her disappointment, to get a pastry bag, but he reached out and caught her hand. 

“No.”

Molly blinked up at him. “No. You  _don’t_ want a cheese toastie?”

“I’dratherhaveyournumber.”

Mary pumped her fist surreptitiously, while John just half-smiled in disbelief. Molly, on the other hand, slowly lit up like the sunrise, her smile growing wider. The disappointed hunch of her shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry,” she teased. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Sherlock huffed, but his half-smile gave him away. “May I have your number? I’d like…to have dinner with you sometime.”

“I’d like that, too.” 

“Good.”

Neither seemed to realize they were still holding hands, too busy staring into each other’s eyes like a pair of lovesick calfs. 

“How long have they been mooning over each other?” He whispered to Mary under his breath. She hid her snort behind her hand. 

“Almost four months.“

John brushed a hand down his face. “Good lord. How is it possible for two adults to be so painfully oblivious?”

The bell jingled and a swarm of early morning customers entered. To their great reluctance, Molly and Sherlock separated. She gave him her number and he slipped away with a promise of dinner the following evening. With one last glare at his flatmate, Sherlock left the bakery, a spring in his step.

Before John could step out of the way, Mary caught his hand and nodded toward the door Sherlock had just left through. “Care to join me on a stake-out tomorrow night?”

He met her twinkling eyes and grinned, already half-gone for the mischief baker. “I’d be delighted.”


End file.
